


The Sacred And Profane

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane wakes up in the burn unit, and Sansa Stark, a hospital volunteer and an evangelical Christian, finds her newest target for conversion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sacred And Profane

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of warnings/content notes: 
> 
> -This was an LJ got-exchange prompt, which was: Modern AU, where Sansa is a very religious girl and tries to convince Sandor to go to church.  
> -It’s a Sandor story, so there’s a lot of swearing. Also, mentions of assault by Gregor. Mentions of hospitalization, pain, surgery, anesthesia and all that.  
> -If you’re very religious, you might find this offensive, in which case I apologize in advance. I drew on on my experiences living with evangelicals in college, some of whom actually said some of this stuff to me. I also used experience in hospital for the details on the drugs and their effects.  
> -Thank you as always to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for the beta!

**I.**

"Excuse me, nurse, but he's just woken up ... this ... this patient. Sandor ... Cle... Clegahn," were the first words he heard when he came to. Sandor was still blinded, but his ears worked fine, and of course the first thing the universe allowed him to hear was a fucking nurse butchering his last name.

"Cle- _GAIN_ ," he roared. He heard, and felt, the nurse jump. She let out a little squeak, like a wounded chickadee. "Jesus moth-eaten Christ, how fucking hard is it? Clegane."

"We don't take the name of the Lord in vain here," said the nurse; older, primmer than the first voice. He couldn't see her either -- the bandage that was stretched across his burned face made sure of that -- but he already wanted to choke her.

"I just woke up fucking blind. In the fucking burn unit. And I will say anything I fucking want."

"That's _enough_ ," said the older voice. "Sansa, come. We'll send Dr. Theomore in and maybe by then this young man will have calmed down."

Their footsteps neared the door, and suddenly Sandor wanted to call them back -- at least a couple of prissy, Bible-thumping nurses were better than nobody, better than his black thoughts and his fire dreams. But they were gone. Then--

"I hope you feel better soon, Mr. Cleg _ane_ ," said the one called Sansa in a little voice. The door closed behind her.

 

**II.**

Sandor had lost track of the number of morphine shots and doctors' visits and IV-line flushes he had endured, but the television above him was playing a football game, so it must be Thursday evening. Unless it was Sunday already? The haze of pain and medication made the announcers sound wavy, as though their voices were coming through water, or a blazing fire ...

"No!" he said, out loud, his jaw clenching. He winced with the pain of the movement.

"No, what?" came a quiet voice from right next to him.

Sandor almost jumped out of his skin. "What the fuck?"

"It's me, Sansa Stark.”

“Oh, yeah, the nurse.”

“No, I’m the volunteer from the other day? I forgot that you couldn't see me. I'm sorry."

"How can you forget I can't see when I have the fucking bandage on...?" Sandor grumbled. Sansa Stark was evidently not the brightest crayon in the box.

She fell silent, and inexplicable dread prickled the skin on his arms.

"What is it, girl?" He reached up to his face, but a cool hand caught his.

"I'll get the doctor," Sansa said. "Or I'll get the nurse." There was panic in her voice. But Sandor was quick and pulled her arm down, holding it near his chest.

"Dear God," she gasped.

" _Tell me, girl._ "

"The bandage is gone," she said in a faint whisper. "I thought ... you knew."

She yanked her arm away and fairly flew out the door.

 

**III.**

_Not the fire again,_ he thought wearily, waking up in a cold sweat with his heart pounding. He would have to tell the doctor he needed more tranquilizers at night, since the terrors were only getting worse. He was sure he was waking up the rest of the hospital wing screaming at his brother Gregor, but when he asked, the nurses all said they heard nothing.

He had not encountered Sansa Stark again since she'd told him he was blind. She'd probably quit, or asked to be reassigned to a different unit, or just requested she never again had to attend to the patient Sandor Cleg _ahn_. Then again, her volunteer stint could have ended. He reached over to click the button that sent another shot of painkiller into his bloodstream. As it entered his system, he settled into a pleasant lull remembering her sweet voice and her cool, soft hand. Thinking of her brought a measure of relief after the nightmares of burning and fear. _Fucking Gregor,_ he thought, but his heart wasn't in it.

Then, there she was. He recognized her footsteps even as he hovered in the space between sleep and wakefulness. "Sansa," he called, lest she see him and leave. The name lay heavy on his tongue, and he was sure he lisped at least one of the S's but he didn't much care.

"Hello, Mr. Clegane," she said, politely. Her voice was guarded. "Are you in pain? Can I get you the nurse?"

"Fuck the nur-- No," he said, changing his tone too purposefully. "I don't need the nurse."

An awkward silence followed. Then, they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry about--"

"I'm sorry for the--"

"What?" Sandor said. "Go on, girl."

"It's _Sansa_ ," she said. "I don't want to be called 'girl.'"

"Sorry," he said, again. "What were you apologizing about?"

"I was going to say I'm sorry for the other day. I didn't know you ... didn't know you were ... you ..."

"That I'm blind now? Damn it, g-- dammit, Sansa. Someone had to tell me sometime. It might as well've been you."

Sansa said nothing. He wished he could see her face -- was she looking at him with pity, disgust, what? He had no way to know, and was forced to ask.

"What's wrong now?"

"I'm waiting for you to tell me what you were going to apologize for," she said.

He shook his head. "Fuck," he said. "I was going to say I was sorry for, ah, grabbing you. I knew there was something, and you were going to leave without telling me."

"It's all right." He could almost see the forgiving smile on her face. Combined with the drug, it was soothing him nearly to sleep again.

"Sansa?"

"Yes?"

"Call me Sandor.”

"All right."

He heard Sansa cleaning up the mess beside his bed -- popsicle wrappers, Ritz cracker crumbs. He heard her pour out his lukewarm water and fill the plastic cup again. He heard her replace the plastic top and slide the straw inside. _A blind man can't drink without a straw._

"Sansa?"

"Yes, Sandor?"

"How long are you here at this hospital?"

"Until my church places me somewhere else," she said. "I guess."

"Fuck," he muttered. _Church._ Of course. He dozed for a moment.

"Sandor?" Her voice woke him again.

"What?"

"I wish you wouldn't curse so much."

This again? "Why? Why would you care?"

"Christ doesn't like it," she said, sounding very childlike, or at least as though she was talking to a child. "The Bible says you shouldn't let poison come out of your mouth. You can't praise the Lord and swear with the same tongue."

"Well," he said, with a slight bark of laughter, "you don't have to worry about that. I don't praise the Lord with this tongue. I'm not a religious man."

"Why not?"

"I think the whole thing is a crock of bullshit. And look at this. What God is going to leave me like this and let the guy who did it walk away free as a fucking bird? My own fucking _brother_ , Sansa. I have no use for God."

Again, Sansa was silent. Again, he wondered what her face looked like now. Was it shocked? Horrified? Confused?

"You sleep now," she said, unexpectedly gently. She smoothed the rumpled blanket around Sandor's feet, plumped the pillow beneath his head. "And I will pray for you.”

 

**IV.**

Dr. Theomore had cut Sandor's painkiller dosage, and the frequency, and Sandor wanted to hit someone. The good doctor could be a start. His eyes were all right now but the skin on his face still felt burnt, stretched across his bones and mouth, making even the smallest of movements tight and uncomfortable. He kept his teeth clenched shut over the plea for more meds.

"Good morning," trilled Sansa, coming in. Sandor could hear the heavier tread of the nurse right behind her. He was in no mood for either of them.

"What's so good about it?" Sandor grimaced with the words.

"It was made by the Lord, of course."

"Good thing then. Yesterday was made by Hank in shipping and I think he was drunk."

"Sandor!"

She giggled. Sandor scowled. He didn't want her to laugh. He wanted her to stop with the Lord, stop with the praying, stop with the humming of the hymns, and start with somehow getting him more morphine, dammit. The fussing over him wasn't so bad either. But now she was acting like he was her pet project, her newest convert, a notch on her Bible belt. He was cold to her until both women left, their ministrations done, leaving him alone with his pain and his blackness and SportsCenter on the television.

"Am I ever going to fucking get out of here?" he said to Sansa when she came back. Alone this time.

After a pause that telegraphed her disapproval of his language, she said, ”You need to ask the doctor.”

"It wasn't a question."

"It sounded like --"

"Ah, fuck it." Sandor waved her words away. "I might as well get moving on out of this place. Get myself a cane or a dog or whatever I have to use and get on with it."

Sansa was quiet as she emptied garbage cans. _Say something_ , he thought. But she wouldn't.

"You gonna miss me when I go?"

"I wouldn't have to miss you if you came to church."

He barked out a laugh.

“I don’t even know what church you go to.”

“I can tell you. But it doesn’t even have to be my church. It could be any church. If you’re my brother in Christ, I will see you all the time.”

This was getting ridiculous. He didn't want to be her _brother_ , for fuck's sakes. That was the last thing he wanted. ”I told you, girl, I'm not interested in any church, or any God, or any praying, for that matter. So you might as well save your breath."

She caught his hand between hers. "But Sandor," she said, her voice beseeching and soft. "I want you to meet Christ. I want to see you in heaven."

For a moment, he almost gave in.

"If your idea of heaven is seeing _me_ in it, you got a weird idea of paradise, girl."

She let go of his hand. "I told you, it's _Sansa_. Really, you are the most exasperating person I’ve ever—! Where do you think you'll go when you die? Do you want to go to hell?"

Sandor snorted. "I can tell you where I'll go when I die."

"Well if you aren't saved then--"

"Med school," he said. "That's where you'll see me. I'll be in the fridges labeled brain, lungs, balls--" he heard the expected shocked gasp -- "but not eyes, because I'm fucking blind, and who wants that? Eyes from a dead, blind man? That's where you'll see my desiccated corpse when I die, girl. In the goddamn bins!"

He snarled out this last line with such anger that Sansa retreated. He had frightened her and he didn't care. Did she have to remind him that part of his body was useless? That she would never see him after he left here, church or not? That she might go to heaven, but he will not? Did she _have_ to?

Did she remind him? Was it really she who had done it?

"Sansa," he said. But she was gone.

 

**V.**

Everything sped up in the next few days. Sandor thought the flurry of activity meant he was about to be set free, back into the streets, back in the sights of Gregor, maybe. It was enough to make him want to stay in the hospital.

“No, you’re not going anywhere yet,” Dr. Theomore told him as a new nurse checked his IV. “You’re going to the operating room, in fact, as soon as we can get a slot.”

“What else do you fucking have to do to me? … Doc?” The doctor’s footsteps retreated.

“He just got paged,” said the nurse. He didn’t know who she was, but at least she didn’t comment on his word choice — or start invoking God. “Yes, he’s gone. They’re always running in and out like that.”

“What are they going to do?”

“Experimental surgery, from what I gather. The doctor is going to try to repair your nerve damage with—”

“Wait, wait a goddamn second. I didn’t sign up for any _experiments_. If I’m blind, I’m blind. I don’t want any crazy shit that’s going to kill me like as save my eyes.”

“Just a moment,” she said. He heard papers being ruffled. “It says here you consented to this.”

“When the fuck…?”

“The ‘x’ by the option to undergo surgery is here. It’s dated last Sunday.”

_Sansa?_

“Nurse, uh … What’s your name?”

“Lemore.”

“Have you seen Sansa Stark here lately? She was a church volunteer.”

“Sansa was called back to her home church for a different mission.”

 _She didn’t even say goodbye? The hell with it, then._ He felt empty … relieved in a way, but empty, all the same. “I signed that paper,” Sandor said aloud. “I forgot, but I wrote the X. Just give me the drugs and get it the fuck over with.” _Even if I die._

Dr. Theomore hurried back into the room; Sandor could recognize his heavy tread. “We’re in luck.” He sounded positively buoyant. “They have an opening in the O.R. in half an hour. Lemore, can you get him going? The anesthesiologist will meet us down there. I have one more patient to see and I’ll see you soon. Let’s hope you’ll see me, too, Mr. Clegane.”

Lemore chuckled. “Looks like you get your wish. We’ll start with a tranquilizer and an anti-nausea before anesthesia comes to give you the good stuff.”

“This is the good stuff,” Sandor said, cracking a dry, painful smile as he felt the Ativan enter his vein, a sting in the IV and then a creeping numbness. “You’re the only one in here besides Doc who hasn’t preached God at me every time they’ve seen me.”

Lemore must have leaned toward him; her voice was suddenly close and low. “I don’t believe in any of that either,” she said. “I just took a job here. I didn’t know the name of the place was so literal. _Mercy_ Medical … where you’ll be begging for mercy when the sisters start preaching.”

Then she was rolling his gurney onto the elevator and down two floors to the operating room. There was an anesthesiologist to greet them, but Sandor was so mellow he hardly noticed him.

“So that’s three milligrams and a half of Dilaudid,” Lemore was saying. “Yeah, I’d go for the extra half. He’s a big guy.”

That was the last thing Sandor heard before blessed unconsciousness overtook him.

 

**VI.**

“Oh, thank God, thank God,” someone was sobbing. “He’s … he moved his hand … thank God!”

_What the fuck this time?_

“Sweet fucking Jesus, my head,” Sandor moaned. It was not exactly pain, but unbearable heaviness. The sound of crying could quickly turn it into pain, though …

“You’re awake,” said Dr. Theomore, relief evident in his voice, though he tried to keep it calm.

“Doc,” Sandor said raspily. “Did it work?” He pawed at the bandage now covering his eyes.

Again, a cool hand took his. “Don’t do it so fast,” came the voice, sniffly but happy. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“ _Sansa_?”

If the little missionary was back, maybe it didn’t matter so much whether the surgery had worked out or not. At least he had her voice.

She sniffled again. “Yes. I came back when I found out they were doing the … the … But I didn’t know it would be so …” Sandor could hear her tears threatening again. If she lost it now and revealed what she’d done in his file…

“It’s all right,” he said, groping for her hand awkwardly. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything might be fine,” said the doctor, “but you got a really big dose of anesthetic and we’re not positive why. That was a terrible mistake and it could have cost — well, a lot. Anyway, let’s see about the eyes, shall we?”

Sansa held his hand as the doctor removed the bandages, layer by layer. He could feel the air cold on his eyelids.

“Slowly, now … easy …” Dr. Theomore thumbed one eye gently open.

The fluorescent light overhead nearly blinded Sandor again, and he squinted until his eye was almost closed — but not before he had seen her: shining red hair, big smile, flushed cheeks. And her little hand in his. _Oh, fuck._

“Looks like we have a winner!” The doctor was legitimately overjoyed.

Sandor looked gingerly at him: a younger man than he had expected, handsome, with glasses and dark hair. _Get the fuck out of here, you_ , Sandor found himself thinking, before stopping himself in horror. “You saved my eyes.”

“It’s the Lord who saved your eyes,” said Sansa, still kneeling at the bedside, her face lit up with dreams of miracles and salvation. “He wanted to show you. Jesus gave sight to the blind man, just like in the book of John! And now you _have_ to believe in Him.”

Sandor and the doctor exchanged a look over her bright head. He tried to roll his eyes, but it was too painful, and anyway he wasn’t sure he wanted Sansa to see him writing the whole thing off so fast. He settled for a dry half-grin.

“Of course,” Dr. Theomore said. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first SanSan fic!


End file.
